Truth
by FlightyBird
Summary: I want everyone to know the true story of me and Arthur, not the things a lot of people seem to believe. It wasn't always happy and nice, not at all. -Slight UkUs/UsUk-Warning: Plot that differs from the Hetalian one and some grammar errors because this is Al's journal-


It all started when I was the physical age of around 12, not as a baby like most think. I actually spent my younger years wandering the forests with my Native People, this is one fact many overlook.

Another truth that everyone seems to look over today was the fact I didn't become some tame boy as soon as the English set foot on my lands. No, I was a wild little boy with demon eyes. I didn't have any rules, I didn't want them, I came and went as I pleased. Sometimes I'd disappear into the woods to live with the Native Americans for months, England always hated those times and Id often see him searching for me. I would hide away then though, pretending he wasn't there because in all truth I hated him.

England came to my lands wanting to tame me and take my resources, my people's resources that we'd guarded for years. He wanted the gold of Virginia, he even had the audacity to buy land that wasn't meant to be owned by anybody but maybe myself. Even with this in mind I liked the things he brought me sometimes: colorful beads, brass kettles, and sometimes even small gems and little trinkets. All such nice things; I was sure he meant well, but I didn't care. He came to my lands for one reason and one reason alone: he wanted to own me as if I was one of those trinkets of his. Something he could wear to parties, something he could flaunt to other 'nations' like France and Spain. What bastards all three of them were.

I will admit that my Revolution later on in my story, wasn't the first time I'd ever killed a person. There was a man, I forget his name, but I remember he was a terrible man with a huge ego much like most of the English settlers. One day, just outside of Jamestown and earshot of my 'Older Brother' he was insane enough to call me a small peice of dirt on 'The British Empire's' boots. He told me that soon England, or Arthur, would just throw me away like the little brat I was. In a fit of rage, I attacked the man with the tomahawk I usually carried with me. Later on the settlers would believe that the man was attacked by a bear.

It wasn't all bad though, I remember one time long ago on what is now known as Thanksgiving. I'd helped arrange everything with the tribes, then led them to Arthur's people. Of course I didn't want any bloodshed, so I ran into the town and left my natives to go find Arthur. He was rather surprised when he saw the 'Indians', but after I explained he seemed to warm up to them...greedy bastard, I'd thought. That was really the only good thing I remember though until around the 1700's when I finally began to trust Arthur, though it was short-lived.

The next part happens when I was around the physical age of 15.

In around the 1760's and 1770's, I began feeling very insecure about me and "My Lord, The British Empire's" relationship. While he'd given me a lot of freedom in the past, it seemed that now more than ever he was getting very pushy and controlling. I, being a freedom loving person with the spirit of a horse within me, didn't like this. At first I tried to use my words like I'd been taught, though when Arthur refused to listen to my pleas I became a bit violent. Riots and talks of war quickly spread through my newly founded cities, many people getting ready to take action as was I. Rumors like this didn't fair well with the Empire of course and I remember him expressing so to me over a long letter and soon out loud when he came to my doorstep. My mind was set though.

This brings us to our next topic of truth and plain fiction, The Battle of Yorktown. In many fictional works Arthur falls to his knees that day in tears, begging for me to stay or a reason for me wanting to leave. In truth I didn't want to leave, I never really had. All I wanted was my voice back and a bit of elbow room to move around in the word that the Empire hadn't been giving me before. Then, as the war progressed rumors had started again of independence and my 'council of war' at the time soon took to it. Aside from that though he did not fall to his knees, nor did we even confront each other. He'd been on the battle feild looking over it with his generals from atop a horse like usual, soon after he left hastily and an hour later it was over.

He never even said goodbye to me, at that time he didn't need to. I was 16, I could stand alone.

Soon enough I became a bit power-hungry and was eager to expand my lands. I'd come to find out that it was in fact a rather addicting game, my hate of the sport from my younger days seemed to have disappeared. I decided to expand north towards Canada, this being British land it wasn't appreciated by Arthur. He expressed this by doing something I'd always sort of known would happen, he burnt my heart to the ground. Not in a figurative way though, he marched in and burnt my capital to the ground and I can still remember the pain I felt that day. I remember he burning sensation within my heart, the heat within my chest, the pain that boiled up within me until I lay unconscious.

I wasn't angry at England, I wasn't saddened by him either. At the time an for a long while after that I was feeling something totally different than that. It was a feeling that I hadn't felt towards him since I first experienced his power all those years ago during my Revolutionary war.

_I was afraid of him. _

Some nights I wouldn't sleep because he would be there in my nightmares waiting for me, wanting to burn me...kill me. Every night I did manage to fall asleep those dreams would haunt me. Sometimes I'd dream I was tied to my bed, Arthur throwing a torch on it and then leaving me to burn as he laughed at me. Other nights I'd have dreams he was simply strangling me or torturing me in some way, be it with whips or knives. Anglophobia was strong in my lands for a long time, only during WWI did it it seem to truly calm down.

While I was still afraid of Arthur, not letting him stand behind me in fear of him stabbing me in the back for instance, I allowed myself to start talking to him again. We'd set up trade routes again already, but that didn't mean we'd started talking much except for a few short hellos. With the coaxing of my bosses it soon turned into more, whole conversations and such. By WWII I was still feeling insecure about our friendship, though in the end of it all we ended being the greatest friends the world has ever known. When 9/11 hit he was the one that came to make sure I was okay, we've always supported each other in wars, sometimes he even helps out with natural disasters and such. A 'Special Relationship' some would call it...

Really, the truth is, past all the hardships and pain we've gone through...from the beginning, to my civil war, and beyond, he's always been there. He's my best friend and someday I hope that maybe, just maybe, I can admit I love him again.

Goodnight Journal

-Alfred F. Jones


End file.
